Every few weeks, Reuben “Dobb” Kass boards a city bus or train at the North Hollywood subway station near his home, and heads off on another adventure.

It doesn’t matter that the retired New York City firefighter is legally blind with only limited peripheral vision, or that he just turned 90 on Sunday. Vision and age have nothing to do with these little adventures Dobb makes. Memories and camaraderie do.

“One day a few years ago he wandered into our station, introduced himself, and sat down,” says Los Angeles Firefighter Mike Hayes from Station 105 in West Hills.

“Dobb’s trying to visit as many stations in the city and meet as many firefighters as he can. Just hang out for a few hours talking to them. Everybody loves him.”

A few weeks ago, Dobb – who got his nickname as a kid from his older brothers in Kansas by passing the time sliding down the neck of an old, blind swayback horse named Dobbin – took the Metrorail to Vermont Avenue, a part of the city he had never visited before.

“I asked someone where the closest firehouse was, and stopped in for a visit for a few hours. Wherever I go, the doors always open because all firemen are brothers, here or in New York. Retired or not. It doesn’t matter.”

True, said the half-dozen firefighters from Station 105 who turned the tables on Dobb on Sunday, dropping in at a 90th’s birthday party being held at his daughter’s West Hills home.

That’s when they saw the video Dobb made last year to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Engine Company 69 in Harlem.

“The guys back there searched the pension rolls to see who was still alive from the old days, and they found me,” he said.

Sitting in the North Hollywood fire station near the Valley Village home where he and his wife, Frances, have lived since 1959, Dobb faced a video camera for the first time.

In mesmerizing detail, he told the current firefighters of Engine Co. 69 and his own family the story of how he “died” at the big Harlem warehouse fire in the spring of 1943.

He was a 27-year-old fireman working the graveyard shift when the alarm at Engine Co. 69 summoned him to a three-story warehouse fire.

“When we got there, Jim McCarthy and I stretched some hose, called for water, and went in. The warehouse was filled with burlap rags, and the last thing I remember, Jim and I were crawling on our hands and knees on the second floor.”

The rest of the story would be told to them later in the hospital. Because of the steel-shafted windows, it was hard to ventilate the warehouse and the men were overcome by smoke.

“They found us laid out on top of a bale of rags,” Dobb said. “We were brought out, and a doctor from the hospital in Harlem pronounced us dead.

“They wrapped us in blankets and laid us out on the sidewalk.”

The fire raged on, and a second alarm was sounded. Riding in one of the fire ambulances was retired Dr. Harry Archer, 93, and working for the New York City Fire Department for $1 a year.

“We were pointed out to him as being dead,” Dobb said. “One of the guys told us later that Archer said, ‘Who says so?’ He immediately put oxygen masks on us, and had other firemen straddle our shoulders, and push down on our backs with their elbows.

“I woke up lying in a blanket on the sidewalk,” Dobb said. “Jim McCarthy did, too. They told us later that Dr. Archer, none too politely, suggested the doctor from the Harlem hospital return to medical school.

“For the grace of God and that second alarm, I wouldn’t be here today.”

But you are, Dobb – surrounded Sunday on your 90th birthday by loving family and brothers on the Fire Department. You can’t beat that.

Happy birthday, and keep on visiting all those fire stations in the city. Old doc Archer would be proud.